


Cryptography

by someinstant



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cybernetics, F/M, Fix-It, Pining, Post-Rogue One, Slow Build, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-13 20:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9141901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someinstant/pseuds/someinstant
Summary: Compromised, Cassian read, his fingers numbing against the screen.Jyn says to orphan.  The words blurred, and he dropped the pad.“To orphan?” Senator Organa asked the general.  She didn't pretend not to have read over Cassian's shoulder.“Cut ties,” said Draven.  He cleared his throat.  "It's what you do when an agent goes rogue--"Cassian shook his head.  “No,” he said, mechanically.  "It means 'to abandon.'”





	1. Codes and ciphers.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, god. I have no idea what I'm doing.
> 
> Do you even know how long it's been since I've written any serious attempts at fiction? Six years. Like, the last time I wrote something for this site, I hadn't started my current job. (That isn't a coincidence. Turns out: teaching happens to be a deeply creative job which is awesome and fulfilling! But also does not allow for much fandom participation. At least, not for me.) If my last fic were a child, it would be in first grade. Assuming I didn't hold it back because of its lack of social development in kindergarten.
> 
> Also, I don't know Star Wars. I mean, I know Star Wars in that I have, of course, seen all of them because I am a human and alive and a consumer of popular media. But I haven't read the books, or watched animated series, and I didn't grow up playing at light sabers and whatnot. This is to say: I am certain there are all sorts of canonical errors in this, because-- jazz hands-- I don't know Star Wars! But I *do* know a good story when I hear it, and Rogue One is a damn good story.
> 
> And the ending is amazing. The third act is perfect, and I wouldn't change it for the world.
> 
> Which is why I'm just gonna shift the world over *just a little*, and keep going.

**Pellezara Station,** **4 ABY**

 “You could buy me a drink,” said the woman next to him.  One black-gloved finger described a spiral on the bartop.

“I could,” he agreed. From what he could see of her face, it was a nice one. “But I’m low on credits, and my mother always told me not to buy drinks for strange women.”  Possibly.  Possibly not, it was hard to say.  Khir’s mother had rather liked strange women.  But the bit about being low on credits, that was true.  He had fewer than three hundred left-- spent everything on the manifest and ident chips to get here.  If he didn’t find a buyer for his cargo soon, he wouldn’t be able to make the freighter payments.  And freighter pilots without freighters were just unemployed slobs waiting for eviction.  Possibly worse, considering his competition.

It was hard to break into the ryll market on Pellezara, but if he could make a first contact-- well.  Some goods created their own demand.

“Your mother must be clever,” she said.  “And very mistrusting.”  The woman gestured to the bartender, brushing her thumb along her nose twice and twisting her head sharply to the right.  

The Kubaz scowled and said, “Nineteen credits, Tem.”  He waited until she placed the chips on the bar, then swept them up with a long clawed hand.  He pulled out two glasses, splashing a few inches of something violently purple inside each.

“Robbing me blind,” the woman said, pulling an invisible line from her left shoulder to her right, fingers tight against her thumb.  The Kubaz put the drinks down in front of her, twitching his long nose derisively.  The woman-- Tem?-- shoved one of the drinks his direction without looking.  “You’re being unfair,” she told the Kubaz, twisting her right hand side to side and spreading her fingers wide.  Something whirred.  “You know I can’t do the honorifics correctly without a nose like yours.  If anything, you should charge me less because I’m at least trying to learn Kubazian.”

“That is not what you are trying to do,” the Kubaz said.  The light from one of the globes above glinted off his goggles as he stared pointedly at Khir.  The claws on his left hand crossed and uncrossed with a sound like reeds in the wind.  “Falsehoods are not becoming, Cura Tem.”

“I apologize,” she told the Kubaz, flicking her fingers from under the sharp point of her chin.  “I meant you no dishonor.”  She turned slightly on her stool, facing Khir fully for the first time.  “Hetha thinks I intend to corrupt you,” she said.  Her face was a very nice one, pale except for the purpling trace of a long scar down the right side.  Big eyes smudged with kohl.  Dark hair showing behind a rust-colored scarf.  “He doesn’t like it when people lie to his face.”

Khir felt his mouth tip up, unbidden.  “Seems like being a bartender would be a bad choice of profession, then.”  He picked up his drink.  The glass still had a smudge of lip stain on the rim from the last customer.  Khir smeared it with his thumb, then took a swallow.  He sputtered.  At least it was strong enough to have killed anything still living in the glass.

“Needs must,” Cura Tem said, picking up her own glass and taking a sip.  Her face remained impassive.  “Are you planning to go to the flight show this evening?”

“No,” Khir told her.  Too hard to do business at the show; buyers for his cargo wouldn’t be looking for that sort of wholesome distraction.  “Are you really planning to corrupt me?”

“Possibly,” she said, and yes, his mother would have liked this one.  Would have done anything to have her.  “Possibly not.  I haven’t decided yet.”

He took another sip of his drink, trying not to pay attention to the thin rime of sludge at the bottom.  “Let me know when you make up your mind, then.”

_***_

_His body weight requires two more_ , signalled Hetha, and Jyn’s smile thinned.  That was another nineteen credits, minimum.  More like forty, because she would need to order another for herself each time.  Khir Rond wasn’t entirely a fool-- just lonely and desperate and amoral, like everyone else on the station-- and he wouldn’t drink if she didn’t.  

 _You are a thieving ass of a roach_ , she signed back, saying, “I think I’ll have another.  You?”  Rond hesitated.  “I’m still buying,” she reassured him.  “And so far, your virtue is safe.”

“I’ll take another, then,” he said, eyes narrowing playfully, “and we’ll see about that.”

Jyn made herself smile.  There wasn’t enough alcohol in the Duro system to make that happen, but Rond didn’t need to know that.  “Two more, then,” she said, slapping the credit chips on the bar and signing, _Same glass and stronger_.  “So aside from the flight shows, what else is there to do on Pellezara?  I have another three days before my transport arrives.”

“Not much,” Rond said, reaching for the glass Hetha set in front of him.  “Drink,” he said, gesturing with his glass before tilting it back into his mouth.  “Fight, if someone looks at you wrong.  Do some business.  Watch some holos.  Visit the back alleys, if you incline that way.  I could recommend a few.”

Jyn took a sip of her own drink; even at half strength, it was stronger than she wanted.  “And here you are, afraid I’ll corrupt you,” she observed.  Pellezara’s back alleys were hives of brothels and trafficking networks for controlled substances.  Draven’s information had been correct, then.

“I didn’t say I visited them,” Rond said.  His gestures were becoming a bit more expansive.  “Just thought--”

 _I am not a roach, Tem_ , signed Hetha, pouring a drink for another patron.   _And he is not used to mesca_.

“Thought what?” Jyn prompted, tracing a brief, _Thank you, honorable friend_ , on the top of the bar.  “What would your poor mother say?”

Rond laughed, and Jyn saw the silver trace of mesca building on his tongue.  It wouldn’t be much longer.  “She would have asked if you preferred a particular species, and charged you double because you’re so pretty.”

“Shouldn’t I get a discount, then?” Jyn said, moving closer and letting her a finger play along the edge of Rond’s jacket.  “Because I’m so pretty.”  He shivered, and took another swallow of his drink.

“Ma thought the pretty ones were dangerous,” Rond said.  He slurred a little: _dangeroush_.  “You are very pretty,” he repeated, and reached out to trace the puckered burn along her jawline.  Jyn heroically refrained from breaking his fingers.

“I think you may have had enough,” Jyn said, trying to sound concerned. Rond swayed a little on his stool, and Jyn slid her hand under his coat.  A steadying gesture.  “Hetha,” she called, “bring us some water, please.” _Is your cousin out back yet?_ she signed over Rond’s shoulder.

“That will be fifteen credits,” Hetha said, and twitched his nose: _yes_.  

“You’re a terrible person, Hetha,” Jyn told him, and signed the same.  The Kubaz twitched his nose again, and set a glass of water down in front of Rond.

“I think it’s really nice that you don’t just talk to him in Basic,” Rond said, earnest.  “You’re nice.”  Jyn pushed the water into his hands, and he picked it up.  “I wish I could sign Kubazian,” he said, before downing the whole glass.

“No, you don’t,” she said, and counted silently in her head.  Mesca and water was a terrible combination, and it usually took--

“Oh, _pfassk_ ,” Rond said, going grey around the lips.  He stood up so suddenly he nearly knocked Jyn off her stool.  His hand went to his mouth.  “Where--?” he asked, frantic, and Jyn pointed to the door behind the bar.  Hetha waved him around urgently, opening it into the alley behind.  Rond ran for it.

Jyn waited a moment, listening for the painful heaves of Rond vomiting up everything he’d eaten in the last cycle or four.  There was a wet splash, and then a painful coughing groan.  

Hetha nodded, and shut the door.  “He should not drink so much so quickly,” he said, and picked up the empty glasses while signing, _His freighter docked at port AE-3. My cousin thanks you for opportunity to eliminate a potential rival, Cura Tem._

“He won’t be any good to me tonight, that’s for sure,” Jyn said, making a show of disappointment, sliding the data key she had lifted from Khir Rond’s belt into her own.   _I thank you, honorable friend_ , Jyn signed as she readied herself to leave.   _Tell your cousin to try not to kill him._

“No,” said the Kubaz, and went back to his work.

***

Jyn made herself walk two rings away before stopping in a doorway, bending down and pulling her comlink out of her boot.  She untucked the scarf she had been wearing around her head, folding it quickly and shoving it into a pocket while pulling her hair out of its tie.  It swung forward, covering her face more fully.  She radioed Bodhi, giving him the dock designation.

“You’re not busy, are you?” she asked, unlacing her boot a little in order to give her hands something to do.

“No,” he responded.  “You?”  She could hear the passing squawk of a convor over Bodhi’s channel; he was in the station market, then.  Not far from the docks.

“No, not at all,” she confirmed.  The only stormtroopers she had seen all day were on the docking ring, but if Hetha’s cousin was as good as his word, they shouldn’t have a problem.  If he wasn’t, they had more pressing concerns.  The Kudaz on Pellezara were deeply enmeshed in organized crime, and were a much more immediate threat than the Empire.  “Rendezvous in ten?”

“Copy that,” Bodhi confirmed.  “See you in ten.  Watch your back.” The channel closed.  Jyn slid her comlink back into her boot and finished lacing it-- TIE fighter through the shield, pull tight-- and stood.  There was a group of Duros passing by, arguing loudly.  She stepped out of the doorway a pace or two behind them, and did her best to fade into the background.

Her best was getting to be very good.

* * *

  **Rebel Base 5251977,** **4 ABY**

 It was going to work this time, Cassian was certain.  He entered the decryption key into the control panel, heard the satisfying _click-hiss-lock_ of the pistons into the socket at back of the processor, and watched as the dead white eyes began to flicker.

“This is very unlikely to work,” said Kaytoo.

Cassian ignored him.  It was good to have something to ignore again.

“The odds of you selecting the correct private key at random are astronomical,” K2 continued.  “That is not hyperbole.”

Cassian turned his head.  “Would you like to try?” he offered, gesturing to the pile of decommissioned KX models on the floor around them, scavenged from the battle at Hoth.  “And I am not selecting anything at random.  All security droids receive the same programming, but that programming is done by people, and people are lazy--”

“True,” agreed K2.

“--and lazy means patterns.”

“I am very good at pattern analysis,” K2 offered.  

Cassian waited, eyebrows raised.

“It’s very boring, though,” K2 said.  Cassian tightened his lips and tried not to smile.  “I don’t want to do that.”

“I know,” Cassian said.  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

K2 tilted his head, surveying the dull black metal around them-- bits of interface arms and torsos in piles.  “That isn’t true,” he said.  “I didn’t want to stay on Hoth, and you said I had to.”

“No one wanted to stay on Hoth,” Cassian said, distracted.  The lights on the KX processor were continuing to blink; he must have got the first part of the key correct.  Maybe--

“Jyn Erso wanted to stay on Hoth,” K2 said, and Cassian made himself take a slow breath.  Tensing up made his hip ache for hours.

“That was different,” Cassian said.  The lights were blinking slower, maybe--

“I don’t see how,” K2 argued.  “She said, _I want to stay with you_ , and you said you weren’t a goddamn child and she would follow orders or you would see her court-martialed for insubordination.”

The processor’s lights went out, and the interface piston unlocked.  Cassian resisted the urge to throw it across the room.  “I sometimes wish you would not record everything.”

“That would render what you are attempting to do pointless as well as impossible,” K2 said.  His head tilted, considering a problem.  “Does that mean it is art?”

“If it is, it’s terrible,” Cassian said.  He held the KX processor out to K2.  “Are you sure you do not want to try?”

“Yes,” K2 said, but took the processor anyway.  “But since we will be here for at least the next two thousand three hundred and seventeen years if you continue at the current pace, I will try.”

“Thank you,” Cassian said.  He slid his arms into his braces, and swung himself up.  He could walk without them if necessary, but the med droids tended to fuss.  “General Draven is expecting me, I think.”  K2 hummed in response, his focus already tuned to the processor connected to his interface. “But you made an error in your recording,” he said, not bothering to turn around.  “She said, _I want to stay with you all_.  Not _stay with you_.”

“Is that not the same thing?” K2 said, allocating some of his processing power to conversation.

“No,” Cassian said, and wished he were less certain.


	2. Call and response.

**Pellezara Station, 4 ABY**

Bohdi met her on the leeward side of the market hall, just at the turn for docking ports A through G.  His shoulders relaxed as he fell in beside her; he didn’t like the jobs that made them separate.

“Did you have a nice date?” he asked, and handed her a satchel.  It was heavier than it had been that morning.  Bohdi was good at taking advantage of local markets whenever they came across them.  Sometimes he even paid for things, which Jyn admired but did not often emulate.  She unhooked the data key from her waist and handed it over.

“Fair to middling,” she told him, and let him take the lead into the docking ring.  “I had to buy my own drinks.”  The ring was an enormous hive of activity: cargo tugs shifting crates into piles reaching for the shadowed ceiling, pilots sneaking illegal smokes between freighters, passengers stopping in the middle of crowds to check datapads and lightscrolls, the constant station master calls from the loudspeaker, the smell of burnt ozone and discharging fuel cells.  It was chaos, which made things easier.

“Ungentlemanly.  And how drunk are you?” Bodhi asked, eyes scanning forward.  “Alpha echo tree, yeah?”

“Alpha echo tree,” she confirmed.  “And I’m not drunk,” she said.  “I had a saber and a half over an hour. And mine were weaker than his.”

“That’s still a lot,” Bodhi said, taking a left. “And there’s not a lot to you.”

“There’s plenty to me,” she muttered, and then pitched forward into Bodhi’s back as a kid in a blue flight suit slammed, hard, into her side.  “The hell?” She shoved the kid off, brushing her belt and satchel lightly as she did.  Everything was still there, unless the kid was better than she’d ever been.  “You shouldn’t be running around here,” she told the boy.  Human.  Maybe ten?  Definitely old enough to know better.  “You hit one of those grav-pads, and it’ll launch you so hard they’ll have to scrape you off the ceiling.”

The kid didn’t say anything.  His eyes were stuck on the scar.  Jyn considered sticking her tongue out at him.

“You’re all heart today, Tem,” Bodhi said, stepping in.  “Hey,” he told the boy, crouching down and taking in his flight suit.  “Pilots have to watch where they fly, yeah?  It’s okay to go fast, but you have to make sure the way is clear first.  Do your calculations.”

“I guess.  Yeah,” said the boy.  Bodhi twitched his head a little, and the boy scowled.  “Sorry I hit you,” he said to Jyn, reluctant.

“I’m sorry I got hit,” she joked.  The kid glared at her, turned, and took off running again.

Bodhi stood up, shaking his head.  “You’re such an arse,” he told her, stalking off down the dock platform.

“I was joking!” she said, jogging a little to keep up.  “Kids like jokes, don’t they?”  Port AE-3 was coming up on their left.  She twitched her hand against Bodhi’s arm.

“Got it,” he said, low, and pulled out the data key as they walked up to the control post.  In a normal voice, he said, “You shoved a kid who made a mistake, told him they’d have to scrape him off the ceiling, had a staring contest with him, and then didn’t accept his apology.”  He keyed in the manifest number given to them by Hetha’s cousin.  If all went well, it would clear their departure with the station master.  “You embarrassed him.  What kid his age wants to be treated like that?” Bodhi said, and jammed his thumb against the port open switch.

Jyn didn’t answer.  Inside the freighter, the locks disengaged and the ramp began to drop.  “Good,” she said, eyes on the lowering ramp.  “Rond’s not supposed to have any crew, but be ready, yeah?”

Bodhi was looking at her.  “Jyn--” he began, and she hated that soft edge.  

“Don’t,” she said, looking down to busy herself with the strap of her satchel.  “Don’t call me that here.  They’ve got surveillance cameras on every dock port, and it isn’t hard to read lips.  Let’s do the inventory and get the hell out.”

* * *

**Rebel Base 5251977, 4 ABY**

“Terrible morning,” General Draven observed.  Cassian propped his braces against the table and lowered himself slowly into a chair, trying not to use his arms to control the descent.  It almost worked until his right hip twinged in a precursor to a full spasm, and he had to shift his weight to his shoulders.  Still, better than last week. Progress was progress.

“How can you tell?” Cassian asked.  The last sunfall had been more than eleven days ago, and sunrise wasn’t due for another twelve.  The medical officers had insisted on issuing all species with a standard circadian rhythm a daily ration of sleeping pills and a sunlamp.  Cassian liked the sunlamp; reading under it was pleasant after the unending chill of Hoth.  The pills, however, could go fuck themselves.

“My comm went off while I was still dreaming, for one,” Draven said, sitting opposite Cassian.  “But there’s caf, so all’s not lost.”  He slid a mug across the table.

“Thoughtful,” Cassian observed, taking a sip.  It wasn’t very strong and had the burnt edge of chitroot behind it.  “Very nice of you to pick me up one as well.”

“Just drink it, Captain,” Draven said, tired.  They’d had this argument before: Cassian would say he could get his own damn caf, Draven would point out the braces, and Cassian would say something that would result in Draven threatening him with disciplinary action.  On good days, Cassian would apologize first.  On bad ones, Draven would.

Cassian took another sip, and let the resentment pass through him.  Draven, like everyone else in the Rebel Alliance, was doing the best he could under difficult circumstances.  “Will anyone else be joining us?” he asked.  Morning briefings usually involved the heads for Counter-Intelligence and Operations, at the very least, not just Intentions.

“Yes,” Draven said, and tapped a finger on the table twice before asking, “How are you coming on your side project?”

Cassian raised his eyebrows.  “Do you really want me to talk to you about prime factorization and encryption schema?  Because I will, gladly,” he said, just to get a rise out of Draven.  The general prefered the type of intelligence work that smelled of cordite and blaster rods.  Cassian did too, but breaking patterns was satisfying.  Which was a good thing, given present circumstances.

“Enlighten me,” Draven said.  His tone was dry, but his eyes were sharp.  There was something at play.  

“If you insist,” Cassian said, lightly. “You see, we have determined that the private key the Imperial programmers are using for communication cannot have more than seventeen hundred bits, and cannot have fewer than fourteen hundred, based on the public key acquired at Dantooine.  Given the stable size of the communication files we have intercepted over the last year and a half, it seems very likely that the processing capabilities of Imperial hyper-transceivers have likely been limited-- or that they are being used for something else.  At any rate, they are not increasing in size, which is a good thing for us, so let’s say the key is closer to fourteen hundred to save time.  We might be wrong, but that is for top secret communications, person to person--,” he paused.  “Are you sure you want me to continue?  Usually this is the part where you tell me just to shoot something.”

“I’m riveted,” the general said.  “Please, do go on.”

Cassian shot him a dirty look.  “This is beautiful stuff, General.  The purest of languages.  You should learn to appreciate it.”  Draven’s expression failed to change.  “Apologies,” Cassian said.  “I will leave the poetry out.  It comes to this: if the top secret communications keys are somewhere in the realm of fourteen hundred bits, and those are messages between Imperial commands at the highest level and given the very highest level of Imperial security, it is likely that the encryption keys for most Imperial droids--  KX, protocol, astromech, everything-- are significantly less complex.  There are millions, billions of Imperial droids.  They are everywhere, all of the time.  To have a communications key more complex than three or four hundred bits would take far too much processing power every time they pass on information.”  Cassian leaned back a little.  “It isn’t nothing, but it is not impossible to break, either.  We can do this.  If we have time and resources.”

“Is that what you did with your K2 unit, then?”

At the sound of her voice, Cassian moved to stand.  His right hip, however, disagreed and he nearly knocked the chair over.  One of his braces clattered to the floor behind him.  “Senator,” he said, trying not to wince.  Was that even the correct designation?   _Princess_ seemed too small a word for her.

“Please sit, Captain,” Leia Organa said.  Two guards bracketed the door behind her.  “General Draven.  I hope you slept well?” she asked, bending down to pick up Cassian’s brace.

“Marvelously,” Draven lied, and Organa smiled.  She took the seat opposite the general.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, her voice dry as Jakku in winter.  “My apologies for interrupting, Captain Andor, but is that what you did with your K2 unit?  You broke his encryption?”

“Not at all, ma’am,” Cassian said, and watched a bit of light go out of her eyes.  “I only reprogrammed him, which is much easier.”

“It isn’t easy,” Draven interjected.  “If it were easy, everyone would do it.  And you had no formal training at the time.”

Cassian shrugged the general’s comments off, embarrassed.  “As you will.  But reprogramming is like carving a melon in half, hollowing it out, and filling it with something else.  Breaking encryption-- that is cutting into the fruit without leaving a mark and eating it from the inside out without the fruit knowing you are hungry.”

Organa pursed her lips.  “And you think you can break the encryption on Imperial droids?  To what purpose?”

“To every purpose,” he told her, and more of his enthusiasm for the subject leaked through than he intended.  “Think of it: Imperial droids are everywhere.  They are omnipresent.  Each one records immense amounts of data-- some visual, some audio, some signal and mechanical-- but each droid contains a central processor.  Most do not have access to memory functions-- their programming does not allow voluntary recall-- but they still record in order to modify behavior and analysis.  Consider all of what people will say and do in front of droids,” he said, and watched her eyes widen.  

“If we managed to break the encryption on, say, the captured KX models from Hoth,” General Draven said, “we could recover data on Imperial strategy and troop movements before that point?”

“Yes,” said Cassian.  “But you are thinking too small, General.  Encryption patches are sent out en masse. They are also created by people who are bored, who have been working for hours, who would rather be working on more interesting and important projects.  That means they will reuse bits of old keys, because they know they work.  And if we break--”

“He says that, but the _we_ is really an _I_ ,” General Draven told Organa.  

Cassian ignored him.  “--if we break an old key, it will not be long before we can break a new key, because people are lazy.  Which would mean we could access any Imperial droid using the same key for distance communication relays.”

Senator Organa leaned forward.  “I think I understood about one third of that,” she said, and Cassian tried not to feel humored.  At least K2 appreciated his attempts at logic.  “But if it means that we could have access to the information from millions of Imperial droids, I’m inclined to tell you to keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.  Let me know if you need more resources.  We need information from Core systems very badly, I’m afraid.”

“I am at your service,” Cassian said, nodding.  The destruction at Hoth had been devestating to their infrastructure and personnel.  Operations had lost more field agents than they could afford, and Cassian counted himself as one of those costs.  An aide de camp stopped at the door, showing a datapad to Senator Organa’s guards.  He entered and handed it to General Draven, who began to read it immediately.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Organa said.  “Because I have a problem, Captain Andor, and General Draven said you might be the one to help fix it.  We need the Imperial fleet to move from Sullust to Corva at a time of our choosing, and we can’t afford to engage them directly.  Our losses have been too heavy.  It seems to me your Intentions division is probably the best way to address this.”

“You need bait that is not bait,” Cassian replied, watching Draven’s face.  It was very still.  “Ghosts in signals, I think.  A hyper-transceiver--”

“My apologies, Senator,” General Draven interrupted.  He stood and shoved the datapad across the table to Cassian.  “Andor, they’ve missed their contact at Mos Eisley.  That’s the last communique Rook sent before we lost signal.”

 _Compromised_ , Cassian read, his fingers numbing against the screen.  _Jyn says to orphan_.  The words blurred, and he dropped the pad.  

“To orphan?” Senator Organa asked the general.  She didn't pretend not to have read over Cassian's shoulder.

“Cut ties,” said Draven.  He cleared his throat.  "It's what you do when an agent goes rogue--"

Cassian shook his head, reaching for his braces.  “No,” he said, mechanically.  "It means 'to abandon.'”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to have written myself into a Plot.
> 
> And to make things more difficult for myself, I'm pretending I know things about computer programming to people on the Internet!
> 
> (This is to say: if I am wrong-- which I am-- _shhhhhhh_. This is Star Wars, and they measure time in parsecs.)


	3. Copy file.

**Pellezara Station, 4 ABY**

“Last one, quest dash zed six, compressor drills,” called Bodhi.

“How many?” she asked over the comm, prying back the lid of the crate to check.  Industrial drills were useful; a good intact one might bring a few hundred credits on Mos Eisley.  If they stripped a few to their component parts, they might be worth even more.  Materials were useful to the Alliance, but so were credits.  Credits bought food, medicine, technology, soldiers, information, loyalty, and-- sometimes-- silence.  The Alliance was perpetually short on all of the above.

“Manifest says a dozen,” came the response from the cockpit.

Jyn whistled and started counting in her head.  “The manifest is a dirty liar,” she said, giddy.  “I’ve got at least twice that back here.”

“Makes up for the short on the tac canvass,” Bodhi said.  “Any ryll yet?  We’re coming up on our departure time.  I need to radio up to the station master to confirm in five.”

“I don’t think he stored it with the legitimate cargo,” Jyn said, resecuring the straps around the crates she had opened.  “I wouldn’t.”  She narrowed her eyes, looking around the hold.  “Is there much space behind the wall panels and the outer hull on freighters of this class?” she asked Bodhi.

“Just enough for the wiring, less than a handspan,” he said, absently.  She could hear the _click, click-click_ of his fingers running through the pre-flight checklist, familiarizing himself with yet another new ship.  “He would have had to take down half the panels to store all of it individually if he had as much as the Nezriti admitted losing.  Doesn’t make sense if he were going to try and sell it in bulk. It would take too long to retrieve and repackage.”  There was a thud, and Bodhi cursed.  “Rond must have had legs like an Ewok,” he said, then, “There is no bloody leg room up here, and the seat doesn’t adjust back.”

“I’m going to check the panels,” Jyn said, and grabbed a spanner.  “And I can fly once we’re out of the station, if you’re so uncomfortable.”

“You’ve been drinking,” Bodhi said, reflexively.  She rolled her eyes.  Pilots. “No flying for another cycle. And you’re terrible, anyway. And you hate piloting. And it’s not going to be _behind the bloody panels_ , Jyn,” he said.  Something rattled over the comm.  She unfastened the first two bolts.  

“It might be,” she said, and pried off the first panel.  “We know it’s here somewhere.”  Nothing immediately visible, but it was dark back there.  She needed a light.  Or maybe just a better angle?  She peered inside.

“You listen to too many adventure streams,” he said.  Then, “And this is most frustrating, poorly planned excuse for a flight console I have ever seen,” and she heard his boot slam into something metal.  And hollow.

Hollow.  “Bodhi,” she said, sitting up straight and jamming her the crown of her head into the edge of the panel. She winced, trying to shake the sparks out from behind her eyes.  “Bodhi, the console--”

“Yes, yeah, of course,” he said, his voice sounding muffled and excited.  Something metallic screeched.  “It’s up here, Jyn.  All of it.  We’ve got it.”

She dropped the spanner and dashed for the ladder out of the cargo hold.  Bodhi met her in the galley, cradling a shapeless mass of dull black in the palm of his gloved hand, delicate.  His eyes met hers, big and frightened.

“Oh, god,” she said, reaching out a tentative hand.  Her heart raced, and she could feel the echoing throb in the knot on her skull.  “That’s not--”

“I know,” said Bodhi.  “It’s not ryll.  It’s ryll kor.  There has to be at least a hundred kilos shoved behind the false front on the flight console.  I don’t even know how-- how-- does that even have a _value_?  Who would even have the credits to pay for something like that?”

Jyn steadied herself against the edge of a cabinet and tried to think.  One hundred kilos of ryll kor.  This wasn’t just a bit of recreational spice they could pass on at Mos Eisley for an additional profit.  This was something the Alliance desperately needed.  Soldiers could stay awake for days with a tiny bit of kor and never lose their accuracy, nerves could be regrown without full bacta tanks.  On the battlefield, it was beyond priceless.  On the black market, it was worth more blood than could be imagined.

There was no way Hetha’s cousin could have known that was what Rond was trying to sell, or she and Bodhi would never have been allowed on board.  But the Kubaz had Khir Rond: the deal was that they got the freighter pilot and the chance to clarify their dominance over Pellezara’s spice market, and a tentative truce with the Alliance.  The Alliance was meant to get a ship and some cargo to sell, and possibly some contacts for future information.  But everyone knew the Kubaz didn’t like to kill without getting every bit of information possible first. Rond would talk, eventually.  Hetha’s cousin would find out what he and his organization had missed, and they had the tracking coordinates for the freighter.

“We have to go,” she said.  “We have got to go right _now_.”

* * *

**Rebel Base 5251977, 4 ABY**

Captain Tills was not Cassian’s favorite person on a good day-- he was self-aware enough to realize that much of this had to do with her replacement of him on the Operations division-- but at present he found himself glad he didn’t have a scaling knife in his boot.

“I _know_ that this is not protocol,” he said for the third time.  “I do not need you to explain Operations procedure to me, thank you.  But I do need to see the security holos the Dratches sent from Pellezara before the freighter departed, and I need to see them now, before you and some other fools make another mistake.”

“Captain Andor,” Tills said, her gills flattening into blue streaks along her neck.  “I am sorry.  You know I am sorry, and we are doing all we can to reconstruct events.  But this is not your mission, and Erso and Rook were not your operatives. They were mine.”

“But they are both  _my_ recruits,” he bit out, tightening his grip on the handle of his braces.   _Were_ , not _are_.  She had already decided, then.  “I trained Rook.  I have field experience with both, and I can analyze their behavior, tell you if they were acting unusually--”

“As can I,” Tills said, the pupils of her bulbous eyes contracting, and Cassian snapped, “ _Not like I can_.”

“Captain Andor,” said General Draven, and laid a heavy hand on Cassian’s shoulder.  “That’s enough.  Captain Tills,” he said,  “I want all communication signals from that freighter forwarded to Counter-Intelligence _and_ Intentions within the hour.  Maybe there’s something in the signals to explain the last communication relay,” he said to the room at large, but Cassian heard: _Maybe you can find something in them_.  He moved to swing out from under Draven’s hand, but the general tightened his fingers, holding him in place.

“You are in this room right now, Cassian, because I know that Rook and Erso are your friends and I-- we all-- owe you this courtesy,” Draven said, too low for anyone else to hear. “You and they have done a tremendous amount for us, and we are going to go through every piece of information we can find. But you know that if they have chosen to cut their ties with the Alliance, Captain Tills will follow protocol as she must-- and you will let her do her job.”

Cassian refused to think about what that meant.  “I need to see those holos, sir,” he said.  “Jyn-- they would never just run.”

“Captain,” Draven said, dropping his hand from Cassian’s shoulder with a pitying look on his face, “That’s all they’ve ever known how to do.”

***

No one spoke to him in the halls.  That was fine; there was no one on base he wanted to speak with at the moment.  He made his way down the long corridor to the coding lab where he had left K2, moving as quickly as he could without getting tangled in the brace legs.

K2 was still in the lab when he got there, sitting in the only chair, his interface arm plugged into the console.

“I decided I was done,” he informed Cassian, who let out a humorless laugh.

“Of course you did,” he said, and gestured with his right brace.  “May I please have the chair, Kay?”

K2 eyes adjusted, focusing with a whir.  “Usually you stand until your right vastus lateralis begins to spasm.  Is there a problem?”  He stood, leaving his interface in the console.

Cassian sat heavily. Picked up one of the KX processors stacked on on the work surface.  “Captain Tills thinks Jyn and Bodhi have decided to cut ties with the Alliance.”

K2 whirred consideringly.  “That is a reasonable conclusion, given available data.  Bodhi Rook, no significant family ties, left Imperial forces after two years as a pilot.  Currently a forty-three percent chance of leaving the Alliance--”

“Kay,” Cassian cut him off, tired.  “Leave it,” but the droid continued.

“Jyn Erso, no significant family ties, left Saw Gererra’s rebellion after eight years.  Left the Blue Ghosts after six months.  Left the Herd after three months.  Left Imperial prison barge 83C-7V after seven months.  Left--”

“Stop it, Kay,” Cassian said.  “I don’t want to hear this right now.”

“Fine,” K2 said, and then, “But I still know the percentage.”

Cassian didn’t answer.  He tried to focus.  When the signal records came through from Tills, he would need to get someone to help him go through the data with a fine toothed comb without taking eyes away from ongoing operations-- he could borrow a droid from Counter-Intelligence, perhaps, and Sergeant Olyn was still recovering from a wampa attack from the evacuation from Hoth; she wouldn’t be on active duty and had the requisite clearance, a logical mind, and a lot of patience.  And if K2 would agree to help--

“My recording function isn’t faulty,” K2 said, breaking the silence.

“What?” said Cassian, turning to look at him.

“You said there was an error in my recording. I therefore checked external sources to confirm the incident in question.  There isn’t an error,” he said, satisfied.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cassian said.  If he said it enough, maybe K2 would believe him.

“You’re lying again, and I don’t know why,” said K2, and as though he were going to win the argument, began projecting a grainy holo recorded from a very low angle.  Cassian could see the base of a stack of crates, a group of people-- or their boots, rather-- and the bottom third of an R2 unit rolling silently in front of whatever was recording the holo. It was terrible quality, but unmistakably the hanger at Hoth.

“What is this?” Cassian demanded, a chill running down every inch of his spine.  “That’s not your camera, Kay.  What camera did you use for this?”

“The sound synchronization is slightly delayed,” K2 said, as though Cassian hadn’t spoken.  “Recording speeds didn’t match exactly, and the comm placement was not ideal.”  The holo continued playing, and all but four of the boots walked towards the hanger door.  

The sound cut on, and the coding room filled with the roar of an X-wing’s engine, and under that, Jyn’s voice.

“-- _yet, and you know it.  Your back is a disaster and you have no business_ \--”

A blast of noise blew out the sound recording as the X-wing took off, and Cassian wasn’t sure if he was grateful or furious to miss the angry words he remembered following.  The boots were toe to toe, and behind them he could see the thin black lines of K2’s legs.

“-- _in this fight, then you are in it. Not when it is convenient, not when it is comfortable, you are in it all the time_ ,” he heard himself say.  “ _That means you go where I tell you, and you do what I tell you_ \--”

“Shut up,” he muttered, glaring at his boots in the holo.  “Shut up, you ass, shut up--”

“Are you speaking to yourself or Jyn Erso?” K2 asked, just as Jyn said, “ _Don’t begin to tell me about_ being in this fight, _you_ know _I am_ ,” and he was still ashamed of making her face go tight and cold the way it had.

“ _Then you and Rook will leave for Belkadan. Now.  Before they get here_.”  There was a moment of silence, and Cassian remembers fighting the urge to run his thumb down the scar she earned on Scarif.  “ _We need the contacts, Jyn_ ,” he heard himself say, and she might not have heard the desperation behind it, but he could.

There a static pop from the comm recording, and then, “-- _want to stay with you_ ,” Jyn said, and K2 froze the holo.

“There.  You can hear, she did not say  _all_ ,” the droid said, pleased.  “My recording is correct, and you're wrong.”

“She said it later.  Just before she left,” Cassian said, absent.  He raised his hand as though he could trace the edge of her boot, a shaking thin blue and grey smudge.  K2 withdrew his interface arm from the console, and the holo disappeared.

“My recording is still correct, regardless,” K2 said, and Cassian shook himself.  The recordings _were_ correct.

“The video and audio weren’t yours,” he said.  “Tell me where you got them.  There were no surveillance cameras at that angle.”  

K2 gestured to the decommissioned KX processor on the workstation.  “I’m sometimes unsure why you work in Intelligence.”

Cassian’s heart leapt, but he shook his head.  “That is not possible, Kay.  We acquired these after the battle was done.  Jyn left before the attack.”

“Obviously,” K2 said.  “But after I broke the encryption key I was bored and decided to check the archives for any repurposed Imperial droids which had access to a control panel for a memory upload.  There was a disabled C1 in docking bay seven which had a functional optical recording unit.”

“You broke the encryption key,” Cassian repeated.  “Because you were bored.”

“Yes,” K2 said.  “And I proved that my recording is correct.”

Cassian ran a hand over his face.  His eyes were stinging, and he felt some of the impossible tightness in his chest begin to loosen.  “My friend,” he said, “You may have just done much more than that.”


	4. Frequency analysis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, sorry for the long gap between updates. I blame jury duty. Jury duty and lesson plans.
> 
> Jury duty and lesson plans and an authoritarian president who is making me invest in reusable protest signs.
> 
> (Did you know that Elmer's makes dry erase foam board? Perfect for all your non-violent protesting needs!)
> 
> But whatever, I'm back now, and I know what happens next, so that's a plus.

**Rebel Base 5251977, 4 ABY**

The hologram was of poor quality, the image stretching and distorting, glitching the snowtroopers’ torsos out in a momentary blue-white spear to the side before snapping back.  The angle was high, shot from over the shoulders of the three figures, and rocked slightly with movement.

“ _Anything_?” came the fuzzed voice of one of the snowtroopers.  Two of the figures leaned forward, as though peering down the conference table at General Draven’s datapad.  

“ _No_ ,” said one of the two.  It was impossible to tell which was speaking; the breather mask made sound difficult to triangulate, and the K4 unit’s audio recording was made indistinct due to the voice’s echoes off of the corridor’s irregular ice walls.  “ _No sign of Rebels_.”

“ _All right, let’s keep moving_ ,” one said, and the trio pushed forward again, walking steadily, but gaining no ground in the projection.

“ _At least walking will help keep us a bit warmer_.”

One of the officers gathered behind Captain Tills snorted softly; it didn’t matter how much or how far one had walked on Hoth.  It had always been just at the edge of unbearable.  It was good to know Imperials could feel something, even if it was only the unrelenting cold.

The figures stopped, one holding out its hand to the other two: halt.  “ _Chatter to the south_ ,” it said, and the other two snowtroopers moved their blasters into position.  “ _Seven-two, Kayfour, hang back and provide cover.  Three, you’re with me_.”

“ _Roger that_ ,” came the confirmation, and Three moved to stand behind his commander’s right shoulder.  The camera angle shifted suddenly: the K4 unit moved to take up a defensive position along the corridor’s wall, the snowtrooper Seven-two crouching down low and nearly out of visual range.  The commander and Three moved left, disappearing from the holo, out of the K4 unit’s recording.  Seven-two’s helmet jerked violently to the side-- avoiding a blaster shot?-- and a faint voice shouted, “ _They’re making for the transport, on your nine, take them out, take them OUT!_ ”

“ _TK-17693 unresponsive_ ,” reported the disembodied K4 unit.  “ _T_ _K-17521 unresponsive_.”  Its voice echoed in the comms.

“ _Pfassking hells_ \--,” grunted Seven-two, and ducked lower.  “ _We push on my mark, Kayfour_ ,” he said, and the holo rocked violently to the side, streaking out for a moment.

“ _Affirmative_ ,” the droid said, and Seven-two called, “ _GO_.” The snowtrooper’s helmet began rocking back and forth in the gait of a desperate sprint, the holo briefly losing image before the K4 unit rounded the corner.  Then the grainy impression of the open cargo ramp of a GR-75, the tiny figures of three Alliance fighters, ducking madly, blasters in hand, running for cover.  A blur of blue-white, low and still in the foreground, Seven-two freezing for a half-second, crying out, “ _SIR_ ,” in a voice of loss that made every soldier in the darkened conference room cringe in familiarity, and then jerking backwards, one-- two-- three-- four blaster shots scarring dark on his holo-shaded body.

The K4 unit pushed forward, following its directive.  Features on the GR-75 resolved as it grew larger in the holo.  “ _Droid incoming!_ ” shouted one of the Alliance fighters, shooting wildly from her position under the wreckage of a shattered X-wing.  “ _One left!  Get to the ship, I’ll cover you!_ ”

“Oh, god, that’s the _Bright Hope_ ,” someone said quietly, off to Cassian’s right.  “He’s going to get Shif, I can’t watch this--,” and he heard them gently push through the crowd to the back of the room.

The holo swung suddenly to the right, and angled down.  A figure broke from behind a crate, running for the open hold of the _Bright Hope_.  A bolt hit the hanger’s ice floor a handspan to his left; something splintered and hit his thigh.  He kept running, uneven.  The K4 unit recalculated.  It didn’t miss a second time: the bolts struck in rapid succession at the base of his skull.  The man fell forward, his head hitting the edge of the cargo ramp silently, out of range of the comm recorders.

“ _SHIF!_ ” a voice shouted, and around the table a handful of faces went wooden and tight.  “ _Shif, you fucking bastard, NO--_ ,” and then a repeated hot buzz of electricity as bolts struck the droid, the angle of the recording twisting sideways and hitting the ground, low, and the holo glitched and glitched again, two figures juttering down the ramp to pull Shif’s broken grey-blue body inside the ship.  The video went static.  There was a barely audible, “ _\--ab the droid, we’ve got to go, Andor always--_ ,” and then nothing.

“Lights, please,” Cassian said, balancing his weight on his left brace and uncoupling the K4 unit’s central processor with his free hand.  The lights came on, and the faces it illuminated were grave, worn by losses.  It was good to have something useful and concrete to set against that unbalanced scale.  

Cassian placed the K4 unit’s processor on the table.  The white ocular lenses stared across at Mon Mothma in her impeccable white, General Cracken beside her.  “We can break Imperial droid encryption,” he said.  “If there is information an Imperial droid records-- data, audio, navigational calculations, visual-- we can access it.”  There was a ripple through the assembled Intelligence officers.  “Kaytoo has determined that the same data encryption key, with very slight variations, has been used on the all the dismantled KX, RX, and CX Imperial units we have obtained to this point.  This gives us access to the discrete data stored on each unit individually.”

“How far back does that data go?” a technician from Equipment asked.  “Is the storage permanent, or does it overwrite like security cameras?”

“Do we need the individual processors, or can we access information through the HoloNet?” asked Major Varas from Systems Ops.  A chattering hum grew along the edges of the room.

“If we can break their encryption,” asked Captain Tills, her cool yellow eyes unblinking, “Can the Empire break ours?”

Tills might not have been someone he liked, but she could cut through to the heart of a matter unerringly.  Cassian met her gaze and nodded.  “Potentially so.  Our encryption keys are different, naturally, but the same methodology could be used against us.  I recommend directing some resources in Equipment to assigning individual keys to droids in Alliance use, rather than using the current mass update system.”

“That sounds like an enormous amount of work, Captain,” said General Draven, raising an eyebrow.  “I don’t know that we have the resources for that right now.”

The technician who had asked about data recording shook her head and said, “No, sir, it’s really not-- we would only need to do some limited recoding to make the program push out random security keys at every update instead of uniform ones, but it’s a relatively small fix.  I don’t know why we weren’t already doing it,” she added, looking at the Twi’lek standing next to her who was already on his datapad, nodding and making notes.

Cassian let his mouth relax into something that might be a smile in better light.  “Thank you,” he said.  “She is correct, General.  It should take a day, possibly two to rewrite the code and send out updates via the HoloNet, if we allocate our resources appropriately.  To answer your previous question,” he said, turning to the technician, “it seems to depends on the model of the droid and its purpose, but as most Imperial droids have no voluntary recall, unused data is generally erased and overwritten within forty-eight hours to make room for more data.  Assuming that there is no uplink with the HoloNet,” he added.  “If there is an uplink, the data is synced with Imperial communications and relayed on.  So,” he said, “Major Varas’ point is well-taken.  Theoretically, if we can insert ourselves between the uplink and the droid’s encryption key, we can copy the data being sent through Imperial communication signals, as well.”

“Why stop there?” asked Major Varas, a light rising in the back of her eyes.  “We could turn on systems useful to us, remotely, during an uplink.  We could have nearly real-time holos of Imperial bases.”

“We could,” Cassian agreed.  Around the room, the chatter grew louder.  The technician from Equipment and the Twi’lek officer were arguing excitedly over something on their datapad.  “We would want to be cautious about it in order to not draw attention,” Cassian warned, and Mon Mothma nodded, “But there is no technical reason why we could not.”

“How many droids are in the Empire?” asked someone from the back of the room.

“Billions, didn’t you say, Andor?” said General Draven, reaching out to tap the dull black casing of the K4 unit.  “And we’ve got a way in.”

***

After, the room cleared slowly, as though the officers and Intelligence staff were afraid that walking away from such desperately needed good news would make it disappear.  And it seemed everyone wanted to congratulate Cassian before leaving, which he could have done without.  He had never had the patience for pointless conversations, and celebratory nothings were the worst.  At least K2 had asked to stay behind in the coding room to continue analyzing the last tracking data on Jyn and Bodhi; as bad as Cassian was at polite nothings, K2 was an order of magnitude worse.

“Andor!" called a booming voice, and Cassian made himself turn around.  “Excellent work, Captain,” said General Cracken, holding his hand out for Cassian to take before realizing that Cassian’s grip on his brace would make a handshake impossible.  “Er.  Well done, that is.  And the Senator tells me that you have a potential solution for our Sullust problem?”

Cassian smiled thinly.  “Thank you, sir.  But most of the work was done by Kaytoo. I only pointed him in the right general direction.”

“You’re too modest, I’m sure,” Cracken said, eyes narrowing in his red-flushed face.  “Now, Sullust?”

Cassian tried to straighten his shoulders; standing for more than an hour made the space between his shoulder blades burn like fire.  “I suggested the Senator consider programming a number of hyper-transceivers to simulate the signals of a star cruiser, and then to have a small force smuggle them to Corva and activate them before leaving.  That should draw the majority of the Imperial force to Corva, leaving us able to move towards Sullust without engaging directly.”

General Cracken hummed thoughtfully.  “That seems a cost-effective way to do it,” he said, nodding.  “Low-risk, not many operatives involved.  Have someone send me the full plans, and we’ll send it to the Council to approve.”

“Yes, sir,” Cassian said, wishing Cracken would leave so he could sit.  He was getting a tremor in his right leg and his arms weren’t up to bearing all of his weight for so long.

“Right, then,” said Cracken, and patted Cassian heavily on the shoulder.  Cassian tensed his right arm so his brace wouldn’t slide out from under him.  “You know, Andor, we all hated to lose you in the field-- you were a damn fine agent-- but I have to say, you may be of even more use to us in Central Command now.  We’ll have to see about a promotion, I think,” he said, and smiled.  There was something dark caught between two of the general’s yellowing teeth.

Cassian made the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.  “Thank you,” he said again, and waited, his stomach souring, until the general left the room before pitching unsteadily towards the conference table.  He wasn’t sure if it was his hip or his head that was giving him the most trouble, but if he didn’t sit soon--

Two scaled hands pulled out a chair and guided him into it.  “I’m fine,” he tried to protest, but Tills was freakishly strong.

“Sit, Captain Andor,” she said, gruff.  “Your leg was about to give out on you, and the General doesn’t seem able to recognize physical discomfort.”  She poured two glasses of water from a nearby pitcher and sat next to him, handing him one of the glasses.  “He is right, though,” she said.  “You have done excellent work, both you and Kaytoo.”

Cassian didn’t answer.  He drank a little of the water; it tasted slightly sulfurous, as did all the water on the planet.

Captain Tills’ looked at him, her large eyes unblinking as he finished his glass.  She handed him the second glass as well.

“Captain Andor,” she said, “I owe you an apology.”

Cassian put his glass down, gently.  “Why?” he asked.  “I do think you owe me one, but I would be interested to know why you think you do.”

Tills’ scales flushed a faint yellow along her chin.  “Because I believe I misjudged Jyn Erso and Bodhi Rook.  My encounters with them have been-- contentious-- in the past, and I believe that may have led me to indicate I doubted their commitment to the Alliance.”

“I see,” said Cassian.  Tills didn’t apologize well, but to be fair, neither did he.

“And I believe I insulted you by suggesting you were unfamiliar with Operations protocol.”

“You did,” he said.  He shrugged, trying not to wince at the tightness in his shoulders.  “But I was also very angry, and concerned for my friends, and would have said worse in your place.”

Tills reached into a pocket in her vest and pulled out a data key.  She inserted it into the holo projector in the center of the table.  “This is the security footage we received from the Dratches,” she said as a crowd of holo figures resolved on the table.  The camera was focused directly on the cargo hatch of a Ghtroc 690.  “I want to know if you see the same thing I do.”

Cassian leaned forward, watching the crowd.  Jyn and Bodhi weren’t visible.  There was a Duro sneaking a smoke between the 690 and a second freighter, a family loaded down with satchels and luggage, two women in mechanics’ coveralls shoving each other playfully as they walked past, an old woman sitting on a crate and slowly massaging her knee, a tug passing in front of the camera.  Then a tall, slight figure came into frame, dark hair pulled back at the base of his neck, goggles perched on the top of his head.  He stumbled forward slightly, and Cassian could see her-- Jyn-- steadying herself against his back before turning around and glaring at someone just out of the range of the camera as she ran a hand along her satchel and jacket.

“It’s a kid,” he said, absent.  “A kid ran into her.”

“They never show up on camera,” Tills said.  “How do you know it was a child?”

Cassian gestured to the figures on the table-- Bodhi was squatting down.  “Eyelines.  They’re both looking down, and Jyn-- Erso-- is short.  Could be a shorter species," he acknowledged, "but look at her face.  She’s bad with children.”  Bodhi said something to the kid off-camera.  It was hard to read lips in profile, but he caught _okay to go fast_.  Rook twitched his head to the side, and then Jyn said something he couldn’t catch, her eyes crinkling at the corner.

He willed her to turn her head fully towards the camera so he could see her smile.

“Well?” said Captain Tills.

He cleared his throat, embarrassed to have been distracted.  “Play that last bit back again, please,” he said, and she blinked, but didn’t say anything.  She reset the holo, and they watched it again.  This time, he made himself look at everything but Jyn after she and Bodhi came into view.  

Bodhi pitched forward with the weight of Jyn bracing herself against his back, just in front of the woman rubbing her knee.  He turned around to look at Jyn and the child.  The woman leaned forward slightly, hand to her mouth as though coughing.  Her left hand fluttered by Bodhi’s side as she leaned back.  

“She’s dropped something in his pocket, or put something on him,” he said, a stone forming in his stomach.

“I think so as well, Captain Andor,” said Tills, solemn.  “They were deliberately distracted.”

Bodhi crouched, and the woman went back to rubbing at her knee.

“Can we improve the resolution?” Cassian asked, looking at the woman’s face.  It was a grey blur of lines and shadows, human, but indistinct.  “The way her hand was positioned-- I can’t tell if it’s a tracker or a listening device.”

“I have several technicians working on a clearer version right now,” Tills said.  “But I have to conclude that Rook and Erso were likely tracked off Pellezara by someone-- perhaps the Kubaz, although that seems unlikely, given our arrangement.”

“If they are being tracked, that would explain why they missed their contact on Tatooine,” Cassian nodded.  “And if they discovered it, they may have sent the last communique as a warning not to try and follow them.”

“I hope so,” said Tills, her eyes still focused on the paused image of the woman on the crate.  “The other possibility is that they did not find the tracker until they were compromised, and their message is what it seems: a directive to let them go.”

Cassian’s fingers tightened around the glass in his hand.  “I’m not willing to accept that,” he said.  “Not without evidence.”

“I know,” said Tills.  “Let us hope we don’t find any.”

 

* * *

 

**Duros System, 4 ABY**

Pellezara Station spun, a glowing top in the deep black, freighters buzzing around its open hangers like sap wasps.  Further beyond, the green murk of the planet Duro lurked, poisoned with eons worth of industrial fumes.  Jyn watched out the porthole as they shrank, the glittering station becoming indistinct against the blurred outlines of Duro’s noxious clouds.

She heard Bodhi clatter into the galley behind her.  “We’ll make the jump in twenty,” he said.  “Just like the flight plan.”

Jun nodded.  They didn’t want to show any odd behavior, not this deep in enemy territory.  There was too much traffic for a safe jump to lightspeed, anyway.  “What do you think?” she asked, raising her gloved right hand and tapping the station through the crystal.  “What’s the play?”

“I think we’re up to our ears in bantha shit,” Bodhi said, thudding down onto the grimy built-in bench around the galley table.  Rond was clearly not much of a man for cleanliness.  “Problem the first, we have enough illegal kor on board to buy a moon, and we cannot sell it without getting our throats slit. And I’m against that.”

“As am I.  But we can’t sell it, anyway,” Jyn observed, sliding into the booth opposite him.  She propped her chin up on her left palm; the metal ridges on her right were uncomfortable.  “We need to get it to the Alliance.”

“But not on this ship,” Bodhi pointed out, fiddling with the sleeves on his jacket.  An old nervous habit.  The Kubaz would be tracking them the moment they broke Rond, if they weren’t already.

“Which is problem the second,” Jyn said.  They sat silently for a moment, running through the possibilities: radio on Alliance frequencies and ask for assistance; not possible, they were too deep in Imperial territory and the risk of interception was too great, even with codes.  Try to make contact at Mos Eisley as planned; too risky, since the Kubaz family organization was well-enmeshed in that planetary dump.  Deliver the cargo directly; not possible if the Kubaz were tracking them.  Also, the site of the new central Rebel base was need-to-know only, and Jyn and Bodhi weren’t on that rarified list.  Most of their work had kept them buzzing between minor outposts for the last three and a half months, their communication with the Rebel Alliance limited to planetary contacts and relayed comlink orders.

Bodhi complained frequently about the endless travel.  Jyn didn’t bother. The person whose fault it was was somewhere on a planet whose name she didn’t know.

“What about a courier?” Bodhi asked.  “We hand the cargo off at a neutral site to someone trustworthy, contact the Alliance when possible to let them know, and they can arrange a meet-up with the courier with someone from Operations.  Pretend it was a normal recruitment situation.  That way we get the cargo off this ship and hopefully off the radar.”

“Do you have any contacts you trust that much?” Jyn said, skeptical.  “Everyone I can think of is going to want to see the goods we ask them to pass on, first.  We can’t risk that.”  

Bodhi chewed on his bottom lip.  “Jian?”

Jian wasn’t a bad idea; he was about a close to honest as smugglers came.  But-- “Last I heard, he was working out of Taris,” said Jyn.  That was Kubaz territory.  “No good.”  She tried to think of anyone she would trust with the kor.  The list was short-- it had six names on it, and three were dead.  Of the others, one was a droid that hated her, another had sent her away, and the last was in front of her.  There really was only one way to do this.

“There isn’t anyone else,” Bodhi said, leaning back.  He closed his eyes.  “Okay, go ahead and say it.  I know you’re about to.”

“We’re going to have to split up,” she said, not liking it any more than Bodhi did.  “We get somewhere off the grid, we boost something small, one of us takes the kor, and delivers it directly without a courier.”

“Has to be you,” Bodhi said.  “You’re better at solo operations.  So you take the kor, and try to meet up with the Alliance.”  He shook his head.  “Doesn’t work.  If you steal a ship-- even something small, a starskiff or something-- it’ll be flagged.”

“I can scrub it,” Jyn argued.  “I used to do it all the time for the Partisans.  Give me an hour with the flight console and a HoloNet uplink and I can wipe it clean.  Once we make the jump, I can try on the freighter, too.”

“You could sound less proud of that,” Bodhi said, mild.  Jyn rolled her eyes.  “But what about me?” he asked, and then waved his hand.  “Not like, what about me, I can’t take care of myself, I’ll be fine-- more like, how do I get rid of the Kubaz and what do I do with the legitimate cargo, what about our check-ins, the Alliance is going to think--”

“Yeah,” Jyn said, glum.  “Tills won’t like us going off book.”

“Sunders said she had Meijin lullabied for missing two consecutive check-ins during the mission on Rimk.”

Jyn raised an eyebrow.  “Sunders wants to get you into bed,” she said mildly.  “He’ll say anything to get your attention.”

“Extremely weird pick-up line, then,” Bodhi said, trying to brush off Jyn’s observation.  He was flushed a little at the top of his ears.  Jyn tried to stop the feeling of fond protection bubbling up in her chest.  It didn’t work.  “But I don’t think Tills would hesitate to write us off if we’re out of contact for too long,” Bodhi said.  “She still looks at me like I’m going to break out into a chorus of ‘Glory of the Empire’ whenever she sees me.”

“I think Draven still thinks I’m playing a long con,” Jyn offered.  “Before we left Hoth, I heard him tell Patl to change the access pass on the consoles in the Operations room after I’d finished checking the data from the last Duros run.”

“Draven’s a paranoid son of a bitch.  I’ve seen him do that the Captain,” Bodhi pointed out.  “And I think he actually likes Cassian.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that we’re high on the Alliance’s list of expendables,” Jyn said, and Bodhi’s narrow shoulders sank.  “If we miss check-ins, the brass is going to assume the worst.”

“And we’re going to miss check-ins,” Bodhi said.  They sat quiet, listening to the hum of the freighter’s thrusters.  Somewhere out in the black, the Kubaz were likely readying a ship.  At Mos Eisley, their contact would be heading to the meeting point in less than a cycle.  And beyond that, the menace of the Empire continued to spread, rolling over planets and systems like a noxious incoming fog.

And somewhere further out in the black, in the midst of all that fog, there was a base where people were fighting back.  It would have been nice to know where it was.  

“Okay,” said Bodhi.  “Okay.  So what if we just let the Alliance know we’ll be out of contact?”

“What, like, get on the comlink and tell them we’re busy right now, but not to worry?  Yeah, Tills will go for that.”

Bodhi flicked a finger against the hand Jyn was resting on the table in annoyance. His finger glanced from the metal prosthetic under her glove to the knotted flesh at her wrist, and she fought back a wince.  “Sorry,” Bodhi said, his face collapsing.  “Sorry, I forgot, I didn’t mean to hurt you--”

“It’s okay, Bodhi,” she said, absently rubbing the spot where her confused nerves were biting against the bone.  “It’s just a little raw right now.”

“Let me see,” he said, and held out his hand.  

She sighed.  “It’s the same as always,” she told him.

“Let me see it,” he repeated, and she scowled, but began tugging the glove off.  She lay the black fabric down on the table, and wiggled her fingers at him: three matte black rods and joints and pistons disappearing into the gnarled red of the heel of her hand, and one pale forefinger and thumb, scarred but whole.

“See?”  she said.  “Just like always.”

Bodhi took her hand, his mouth twisting a the inflammation where the prosthetic joined on.  “You haven’t been using that ointment, have you,” he said.

“I don’t like it,” she said.  “It burns.”

“It increases blood flow,” he countered.  “And if you want to keep the rest of the hand, you need to use it.”  He pressed lightly on the scar tissue at the base of her thumb.  She grimaced, but let him gently work at the knots.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself, Jyn,” he chastised.

“I don’t remember asking you to be my nursemaid,” she said, and pulled her hand from his, a little reluctant.  She and Bodhi had spent enough time putting each other back together over the years; touch was a way to check in, and Jyn wasn’t immune to it.  

“You didn’t,” Bodhi said, watching her carefully pull the glove back on.  “But the Captain did.”

Jyn’s mouth tightened.  “Cassian’s a fucking hypocrite,” she said, thinking of the raised red lines on either side of Cassian’s spine, how the muscles in his lower back would twitch when she ghosted cool fingers over them.  Jyn rubbed at her aching palm through the glove and swallowed against a lump in the back of her throat.

“I know,” Bodhi said, kind.  “But so are you.”  

She nodded: that was true.  “I’m not good at this,” she admitted, angry at herself.  “Planning in advance-- I can’t see far enough ahead.  I never could.  And we need to make the jump soon.”

“You’re good enough,” Bodhi said.  “So we’ll do what we can.  We’ll jump towards Tatooine, and come out early-- maybe near Geonosis?  We can make a second jump from there to whatever system you think would be the best target for you to boost a skiff.”

“I’ll try to scrub the freighter while we’re in transit,” Jyn said, sitting up straighter.  “And we should do a sweep for trackers on the hull when we land.”

“Should we try to contact the Alliance?”

Jyn chewed on her bottom lip, then shook her head.  “Let’s wait until we jump past Geonosis, if we can.  I’m still worried about interception.”

Bodhi nodded, and unfolded himself from the both.  “Sounds like a plan.”

“A shitty plan,” Jyn said, following him.  “But it’s a start.”


	5. Scramble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than normal, and you'll note that this one lacks a Cassian POV. That would be because we need to catch things up to real time, or at least close to it.
> 
> Also, I found out that writing battle scenes is really freaking hard.
> 
> Also also: seven chapters was a dirty lie, mostly chosen at random to avoid the dreaded 1/? demarcation. Ten sounds about right, but we'll see how it goes.
> 
> And I've got a week-long break from classes coming up shortly, so we'll see if I can't slam some more out in the next couple of weeks for you guys.

**Hyperspace, ABY 4**

Jyn grunted, and wiggled herself backwards with her hips, her right foot braced against the base of the co-pilot’s seat, torso twisted to fit through the pried-open false front of the flight console.  She really needed to be able to brace her left foot to push back further, but when she tried she kicked the piled packages of ryll kor they’d had to move for her to have access to the console.  Several packages fell heavily on her leg, and she tried to shake them off.

“Comfortable?” Bodhi’s voice was muffled by console and the electric hum of the thrusters below and equipment around her head.  The bastard sounded like he was stifling a laugh.

“Fu-- _op_ \--,” she tried to say, but the flashlight she was holding in her teeth wobbled.  She pursed her lips, trying to steady it, but it fell backwards and struck her forehead on the way down.  “Shit, _ow_ ,” she cursed.  “Fuck you, Rook.”

“You okay?”

Jyn twisted her left arm over her head and retrieved the flashlight.  “Yeah,” she said, trying to wedge the light between her chin and neck so she could see what she was doing, “I just either need a third arm or night vision.”

“You have no idea how much I wish I were taking a holo of this, it’s fantastic,” Bodhi said, and something hit her right leg.  “Sorry, sorry,  just trying to reach the compressor to prep for arrival. Not trying to play footsie.”

She kicked at his ankle for that.  “Time?” she asked, reaching back, feeling blindly behind the sensor array.  She hadn’t stripped any freighters for the Partisans, but Bodhi said that the layout for the consoles were relatively similar to a skiff, and she had worked on other Ghtrocs models before.  It should be about the width of her palm, and usually there was a raised clip on the underside--  “Got you, you bastard,” she said under her breath, and slid her fingernail under the clip.  The ident relayer was stubborn, though, and she had to work a second hand up to get enough leverage to pry it free.  Bodhi said something, but she was too focused on working the relayer out of its socket to focus.  She pulled hard, and it came free in a jerk-- she nearly gave herself a bloody nose as her hands, holding the relayer, crashed into her face.

“I cannot tell you how much I hate Khir Rond right now.  I hope Hetha’s cousin feeds him to a colony of durbites,” she said, trying to scoot gracelessly out of the false front compartment.  Her legs got tangled around the co-pilot’s seat and loose kor packages, and the metal strip Rond had used to secure the front panel bit into her hip as she pushed herself out.

She sat up, and found her face nearly in Bodhi’s lap. They stared at each other for a moment, and Jyn raised an eyebrow.

“I’m flattered, I am,” Bodhi said, blank-faced, “But don’t you think it would be a little awkward?  I mean, we work together.”

She smacked his hip and reached a hand out.  “Help me up, you arse,” she said.  Bodhi pulled her into the co-pilot’s seat, and she set the ident relayer on the console.

“We’ll be coming up on Geonosis in the about ten,” Bodhi told her.  “I’ve got the coordinates for the second jump to Subterrel set.  Is that enough time for you to wipe everything?”

“It’s going to have to be,” she said, turning to the communications panel.  “I need you to keep time for me,” she told him.  “I’ll do this in thirty second bursts and then decouple so there’s not a lock on signals, okay?”

“Got it,” Bodhi said, chrono ready.  “Tell me when you start.”

Jyn logged herself into the HoloNet, quickly keying in a blocker and navigating to one of the dark sites she-- or maybe Tanith, it was hard to remember which self had been involved--  had used in the past.  When prompted, she entered the pass code, holding her breath to see if it still worked; it had been at least six years since she’d tried this.

It worked.  “Here we go,” she said.  “Ready?”  

“Ready,” said Bodhi, and she and plugged the relayer in to the communications panel.  

“Start,” she instructed, watching the code populate on the screen.  She was looking for six lines-- she just needed to change the hail code and tracker numbers to something generic.  The symbols swam green on the black screen, and she scanned them frantically.  “C’mon,” she said, and then, “There’s one, you beauty,” and quickly rewrote the two tags.

“Fifteen seconds,” Bodhi warned, and she let her eyes drift down the screen, finding the second line a few moments later.

“Got the second,” she said, fingers tripping briefly on the keyplate.  She had to change the first tag twice.

“Five,” said Bodhi, “You need to log out, three, two--”

“Yep,” she said, and shut the program down, uncoupling the relayer.

Bodhi reset the chrono.  “You’re not bad at that,” he said.  “How many did you get?”

“Two,” she said.  “And I’m really good at this, thanks.  Ready to go again?”

“Ready,” he said, and she dove back in.  She got three on the second pass.  The last line proved elusive, requiring two more log-ons before she found it with a triumphant, “There you are, you fucking tree goat, I got you,” before shutting down the program and logging off the HoloNet all together.

“Nice work,” said Bodhi.  “We’ve got a little less than four minutes before we come out of hyperspace.”

Jyn grabbed the flashlight and relayer and prepared to force herself back under the console to put the the relayer back.  “Give me a two minute warning, okay?” she said, and curled her shoulders in towards her chest as she squirmed into the tiny space.  With the hail code and tracker changed, the Kubaz shouldn’t be able to target where they came out of hyperspace; they would show up as an anonymous, although legitimate, cargo freighter on sensor arrays.  Or they would if she could get the relayer back in place.  

Jyn twisted her left arm backwards, feeling for the empty socket behind the sensor array.  Her bare fingers felt the comb of pins within the socket, and she fumbled the relayer into position, only to curse as she realized it was backwards.  “Shit,” she cursed, twisting her right arm around her head to position it correctly.

“Two minutes, Jyn,” Bodhi said.  She could feel him nervously jiggling his leg.  

She felt the combs align, and pushed.  The relayer clicked into place, and she left the tension leave her neck, saying, “Got it, Bodhi, we’re good,” and letting herself lay still for a moment.

“Good work,” said Bodhi.  And then, “Not to bother you or anything, but I could still use a copilot, if you wouldn’t mind,” and she groaned.

“Someday,” she said, pushing herself back out of the console, “We’re going to have at least an hour between crises.”

“Someday,” Bodhi agreed as she dusted herself off and pushed her hair out of her face.  “Strap in, yeah?” he told her, preparing to disengage the hyperdrive.  “Just in case.”

“Just in case,” she repeated, and began to loop the straps around her shoulders as the blurred stars began to resolve into discrete dots.   They dropped into the black. “Your optimism is--”

The green bolt of a laser flashed directly past the starscreen, and Bodhi cursed, wrenching the controls violently.  The freighter pitched, and Jyn looked about wildly.

“Six hostiles,” she said, pushing the straps off and standing.  “One north three, two south nine--”

“Got it,” gritted Bodhi.  The freighter dove, but it wasn’t build for evasive action. They couldn’t outrun so many.  “Get on gunner, now,” he ordered, and she was already running for turret, switching on her comm as she did.  

“--not Imperials,” Bodhi gritted in her ear as she slid down the ladder into the turret, the sudden roll of the freighter throwing her painfully into the arm of the gunner’s chair.  She climbed in, and switched on the cannon.  “They’ve got Hornets and a couple of B-wings with mods.”

“Online,” she said, listening to the whine of the laser powering up.  “Kubaz?”

“Maybe,” said Bodhi.  “I don’t know, they’re-- _SHIT_ ,” and the lights flickered briefly as the shield absorbed a hit.  Jyn swung the chair, trying to get a visual on one of the hostiles.  The screen blinked red as she zeroed in on an Interceptor coming in at her two.  “Jyn--!” warned Bodhi, and she said, “I got it, I got it,” pulling the trigger as it swung dead center, the thought, _I am one with the Force_ , flashing hot and unbidden through her chest and the burning phantoms of her fingers.

The Hornet exploded in an arc of silent flame, and Bodhi wrenched the freighter out range of the debris field.  

“Good,” said Bodhi, breathless, “good shot, Jyn--”

Another Hornet came into view, and Jyn took aim.  She clipped the aft wing, but the Interceptor didn’t slow or change its course.  The freighter rocked and shuddered under the turbolaser-- two blasts?  Six-nineties didn’t have great shielding, everyone knew that.  “Bodhi, we have jump,” she said, taking aim again.  This time she hit the command pod and it spiralled left out of view.  “We have to jump, we can’t take any more hits,” she said, as the freighter juttered with another bolt, the targeting screen glitching to black before coming back online, fading in and out of resolution.

“I know, I know, I’m trying to get enough space--,” he said, and she could hear him keying in coordinates, muttering, “--going to pfassking die in a pfassking debris field-- on our seven, Jyn!”

“The fucking targeting computer’s glitching on me!” she yelled over the comm.   

“Then fucking eyeball it, I don’t know!” Bodhi yelled back.  She cursed and swung the chair into reverse.  The B-wing was sliding up and down the Y-axis, deliberately making it difficult for her to get a lock on it during its approach.  “ _Jyn_!” Bodhi yelled as the freighter slid sideways to avoid another hit, “I need you to take it out!”

“I’m--,” _not good at this_ , she wanted to say, _don’t count on me to get us out_ , _I’m going to get us killed_ , and her chest burned again, lit up from within.  “One with the Force,” she spat out, and closed her eyes.  Pulled the trigger.

Bodhi whooped over the comm, the mic crackling with the volume.  The freighter whined, and then shot forward, forward, pressing Jyn into the cannon controls with the acceleration.

She pried her eyes open.  “Did I get it?” she asked, and heard Bodhi’s feet clattering out of the cockpit towards the turret.  Outside the crystal cage of the turret, the stars stretched into lines of light.  They’d jumped.

“Did you _get_ it?” asked Bodhi, his face pale and excited, peering down the ladder at her.  “It was a perfect shot,” he said, extending a hand down to help her up the ladder.  Normally, she would have glared at him, but she was feeling a little shaky, and her right hand wanted to clutch for a necklace that wasn’t there anymore.

“Huh,” she said, dropping his hand and sitting heavily on the bench in the galley.  “I had my eyes closed.”

“Please don’t tell me that,” Bodhi said, slumping down next to her.  They sat in silence for a moment.  Jyn tilted her head back against the bulkhead.  Her hip ached from slamming into the gunner’s chair, and it felt like her shoulders had decided to relocated to her chin.  She made herself exhale slowly, trying to convince her neck and shoulders to relax a little.  She could feel Bodhi next to her trying to do the same.

“They shouldn’t have known we were coming out at Geonosis,” Bodhi said after a minute or two.

She turned sideways on the bench.  Bodhi’s eyes were closed, and he was chewing on his lip like he did when he hadn’t slept enough.  “I swear,” she said, guilt growing in her gut, “I swear I did the wipe correctly.”

Bodhi’s eyes opened, and he shook his head.  “No, it’s not-- I know you did, Jyn,” he said, reassuring her.  “But even if you didn’t, they shouldn’t have known we’d drop out at Geonosis.  If they were tracking us, they’d have seen that we were plotted to come out at Tatooine, not Geonosis.”

Jyn’s eyes widened.  

“I think--,” Bodhi began, and Jyn held up a hand, gesturing for him to be quiet.  She grabbed the datapad they’d left on the table after doing inventory, pulling up a text file.

 _listening_ , she typed, and tapped her ear. _not tracking us_.

Bodhi nodded jerkily, taking the datapad from her.  “I think we need to check the relayer again before Subterrel,” he said, and he sounded nervous to her ears-- did he sound like that to whoever was listening?

 _NOT Subterrel_ , he typed.  She nodded her agreement. _Where_?

“I don’t want to go back under there,” she made herself whine, while trying to think of some place safe and out of range.  Kessel would work, maybe?  It was the backside of nowhere.  No, wait-- too much Spice trade.  Maybe Kuat?  It would be dangerous, but they could boost something and ditch the freighter.  She typed as much on the datapad.

Bodhi grimaced, but nodded.   _We need to sweep everything for bugs_ , he responded, then said, “You do that, and I’m going to find something to eat.”

“Good luck with that,” she told him.  “I don’t think Rond was much of a cook.  I think it’s going to be starch pellets for a while.”   _we should contact the alliance_ , Jyn typed out after a moment’s thought.  _tell them to back off until we know what’s going on. don't want to jeopardize. don’t think it’s the kubaz listening. wouldn’t need to bug us. they could just track the freighter_.

 _Wasn’t the Empire at Geonosis_ , Bodhi reminded her.   _More like a syndicate, so if not Kubaz, who_?

 _rond stole the kor from the nezriti_ , she typed out, which-- shit.  She really hoped she was wrong on this.  The Nezriti Organization was trying to set up a joint operation with the Black Sun, and if they were involved, if they were listening in--

 _I’ll send the orphan directive_ , Bodhi typed.  He looked up and met her eyes.  Jyn nodded, and tried to swallow back the bile rising in her throat.

Bodhi grimaced, rising to walk to the communications panel.  He flipped up the cover, and dialed in the encryption code.  His fingers hesitated over the keyplate, and Jyn looked away.  She was used to walking away from things, but not when she wanted to stay.  She stood, and idly started looking through Rond's cupboards-- for listening devices or food, she couldn't have said which.

"Anything?" Bodhi asked, and she glanced back to see him close the cover.

"No," she said.  "I think--," she said, her voice sounding thick to her ears, "I think we're on our own."


End file.
